Diljit Dosanjh's Satluj, which had been fighting a prolonged battle over censor approval, was pulled from streaming giant ZEE5 two days after its release in India. Diljit shared his first reaction on Sunday night, hours after the streamer issued a statement about its decision. Early Monday, Diljit hosted an Instagram Live thanking fans for their constant support. He reiterated one point throughout the live session: once something is online, it can't be erased. Diljit asked fans who have watched and downloaded the film to show it to others who haven't seen it yet. "I came live on Instagram to thank people for watching Satluj. "What I had feared actually happened. I thought the film would be taken down by Monday, but it happened sooner than expected. That's why we didn't promote the film. It was best to release the film (online) without any promotion. Today's youth is talking about Jaswant Singh Khalra. Every home is talking about Jaswant Singh Kha...
In the heart of Madhya Pradesh, nestled amid the rugged terrains of Rajgarh district, lies Jaitpura - a village where time seems to have stopped, leaving dreams in shackles and childhoods stolen. Here, innocence is traded, and the cruel weight of tradition drags children into adulthood long before their time.
Our journey began where the road ended, over narrow, broken paths that echoed the hardship of lives untouched by development.
In these forgotten corners of India, we found children whose laughter has been silenced by customs like child marriage and engagement, bound by the age-old practice of Jhagda-Natra.
This grim tradition demands exorbitant amounts from families seeking to break free from pre-arranged marriages, perpetuating a cycle of poverty and despair.
The stories of Jaitpura are a reflection of a broader malaise plaguing 50 villages, where over 700 children have lost their right to a carefree childhood.
Rama Bai, now 40, recalls how her childhood ended abruptly three decades ago.
"I got married at the age of 10 years... Every day, girls here are married off. This must stop," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of her past.
Geeta, just 22, carries her young daughter in her arms. Engaged at two, married at 16, she refuses to let history repeat itself. "I will not engage my daughter. This must end with me," she asserts, her resolve a tiny ray of light amid the darkness that lies heavy over the lives of the children.
One parent explained the harsh reality: "Here relationships are often fixed even before birth. When a woman is six months pregnant, families decide-'if you have a boy and we have a girl, they will be engaged.' They stick to their word. As children grow, more money is required, and sometimes, in a drunken state, engagements are finalised. This happened in our family too," she said, a tone of resignation in her voice.
Childhood Dreams in Chains
These decisions impact children profoundly, robbing them of their innocence and dreams. Some are as young as one year old when they are engaged, marked with bracelets or lockets to signify the commitment.
Dinesh, a young boy, shared a bittersweet moment about his fiancee: "My fiancee is frim Gangapar. She was given a bracelet and a pendent during the engagement."
Another child, Mangilal's fiancée, said: "I was just a year old when I got engaged. I don't remember much, but I know his name is Mangilal. I didn't receive anything during the engagement."
For many, these symbols of commitment are not cherished but burdensome.
A boy, just 10 years old, was vocal about his discomfort. "I was given sweets when I got engaged, but I didn't want to. I've decided-I won't marry. I'm in the 5th standard, and I want to become a doctor," he said.
For the young girls, anklets and bangles are not adornments but symbols of oppression. The pain, both physical and emotional, weighs heavily on them.
"My feet hurt a lot because of the anklets. I tell my parents every day, but they say I must wear them. This is bondage. I want freedom from these," a girl said.
For most, these ornaments represent a lifelong burden.
A 10-year-old, married when she was far younger, said: "The bangles were put on me during my engagement and marriage. They're said to enhance a girl's beauty, but to me, they are shackles. Sometimes, when there is trouble at my in-laws' house, these bangles are removed and sold."
Villagers justify the system as a compulsion - a way to escape debt, or wedding expenses. But it is the children who pay the price, their lives reduced to mere transactions.
Govardhan Tanwar, the deputy sarpanch, sounded matter of fact. "Engagements happen when parents are drunk. They take loans, marry off their daughters, and the cycle continues."
According to the National Family Health Survey-5, 46 per cent of women aged 20-24 in Rajgarh were married before they turned 18. Education remains a distant dream, with over half the women in the district illiterate.
Breaking these shackles comes at a cost. Families must pay hefty fines to annul pre-arranged marriages, often appearing before social panchayats.
The price of freedom is crushing, leaving many resigned to their fates. In certain regions of Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh, if a girl dares to break free from this bondage or refuses to go through with a prearranged marriage, she and her family are summoned before social councils. These councils impose fines, known as 'jhagda' (penalty), for canceling the marriage. In some cases, practices like nata or natara, involving widows or abandoned women returning to society, are also intertwined with these traditions.
Amid these statistics and age-old customs, this story is not just about Jaitpura village-it is a reflection of countless tales of pain and struggle. It is the story of countless villages where tradition chains childhood, and dreams are sold.
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